Sunday, August 16, 2015

The Brewing Yuk Factor

Henry in Wa Wa Coffee shop, the usual place listening to Freddie King, “The Same Old Blues” on coloured radio somewhere in Georgia—a slow blues riff, a swan song,  a bow as the curtain slowly closes.

Life on the way out in closing, sweet and blue as the rain falls—sittin here waiting for a fast track, a way out, “Someday Baby” take me out of here.

Writing as— busted up form, a splash of colour and a crap shoot.

Henry a lazy writer, he had to drag himself to the keyboard.  It wasn’t a passion for him, more a dull itch.

Henry didn’t like people. In the old days the pikers new their place at the gaming table, today anybody with a blog is a super star—  way too much self and more self everywhere you looked. Andy Warhol  the gay prophet of the brewing  yuk-factor. 

“Everybody will have fifteen minutes of fame.” 

And the yuk-yuks are tripping all over each other like spawning Salmon in heat to get theirs.

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